To Have and to Hold
by Miri1984
Summary: Set in the Beginnings/Losses/Consequences universe. Miranda Cousland is Warden Commander in Amaranthine, but misses her husband Alistair dreadfully. Also, she has a certain apostate admirer to contend with...


He didn't like to pry. But there was something wrong about being the Queen of Ferelden _and _the Warden Commander of Ferelden at the same time. They'd only been married a couple of months. Why was she here?

Of course, he wasn't upset that she _was_ here. If she hadn't been here he would have been... well if he'd survived the darkspawn there was Ser Rylock and the Templars and he did sooo enjoy those trips back to the Tower in her scintillating company. All those dour looks and tasteless stews. And magic dampening shackles _definitely_ did not go with his current robe ensemble.

When he'd seen her standing there, he'd thought he'd been rescued by Andraste herself. Or at least someone who had posed for one of the many statues of her that dotted Ferelden. He'd felt foolish and fifteen again when those grey eyes had fixed themselves on him, then on the dead Templars and darkspawn surrounding him.

Luckily she seemed more impressed by the dead darkspawn than upset by the dead Templars.

And he found that he was doing more of that. Trying to impress her. Skating on dangerous ice, considering who she was married to, but he figured if it was more than just a marriage of convenience there was no way the King would have let her come. Or for that matter, come all the way from Denerim to give her a _kiss on the cheek _and then turn around and go straight back home.

If Anders had been King Alistair, he would have at least arranged for a quickie behind the blacksmith's shed. I mean, what was the _point _of being king if you couldn't take advantage of it?

Maybe he didn't swing that way.

She seemed to like his joking, although sometimes he caught a shadow of pain in her eyes. No matter how much he tried, though, he couldn't get her to open up about herself. She deflected personal enquiries with impersonal answers.

"What would you do if you weren't a warden?" he'd asked her, one day.

"I'd go back to court, obviously."

"Oh, the old ball and chain..."

Her eyes had flickered, but then she had smiled a secretive smile and deflected any more queries back on him.

Then she'd given him Ser Pounce-A-Lot.

He'd never had a woman _listen _to him as closely as she did. When he told his stories to other people, their eyes tended to glaze over, or they interrupted him with things _they_ wanted to say. She simply watched and listened. Taking it all in. Storing it away in her memory as though she had it all written down somewhere and only had to open the book to read every single thing he'd ever said. He'd mentioned Mr Wiggums _once_ and two weeks later she'd cornered him in the audience chamber and handed him a kitten.

He was in love.

Oghren teased him mercilessly. "You haven't got a chance, sparkle fingers," he said. "The Commander married that strawberry headed nughumper for love, not politics."

"Then why is she here?" Anders replied. "You can't tell me that she couldn't have told the Orlesian Wardens to take a hike when they suggested she head up the wardens. Something must have gone wrong..."

The dwarf shook his head and took a long pull of ale. "You don't know her," he said, and it was the seriousness in his tone that made Anders hold his tongue.

He tried to find ways to get her alone. Tried to discover what sort of gifts she might like, but it was like trying to talk to a Templar sometimes. She would smile and laugh and deflect him with another question about his time at the tower, or remind him to train harder.

They had darkspawn to fight. He liked fighting. In the tower he'd spent so much time locked up that he'd rarely got to use magic, so having the opportunity to let loose with destruction was a novelty, and one that he didn't get sick of. He _was _talented, even if he did say so himself. He liked to keep himself in shape. And the feeling of power flowing through him had always been vaguely sensual. Even more so if he let himself rest his gaze on the Commander while he.... performed.

There was something hypnotic about the way she fought, although sometimes he got the impression that she was missing something. She would look beside her and curse, or push Oghren out of the way when he did something she didn't like. Oghren took it in his stride. At one stage he'd growled out "I'm too sodding _short _for that, Commander!" and she'd apologised profusely after the battle was won. Oghren had rolled his eyes and stalked off and she'd looked helpless for a moment, before shrugging and rolling her eyes.

"Grow taller then!" she'd shouted at him.

* * *

The darkspawn was part of a bigger group, but it was cunning, like these new ones were, and it had slipped behind them during the battle. None of them had sensed it in time.

The wicked curved blade protruded from her shoulder before any of them heard anything. Sigrun was quicker than he was. The darkspawn's head was separated from it's shoulders before the first drop of blood dripped from the Commander's wound. But it was too late. He watched in horror as she sank to the ground, unable to move until Oghren shoved him with the pommel of his axe.

"Aren't you the healer here?" the dwarf growled.

That's right. Magic. He rushed to her side, shouting instructions. "Nathaniel, help me get the sword out of her. Sigrun - poultices. Oghren... just keep watch."

She was still conscious - still upright, though on her knees. She hadn't made a sound, not even when the blade had first pierced her.

Anders held her shoulders while Nate pulled the blade free, magic already coursing through his fingers to try to slow the blood that would be trying to escape as soon as the blockage was gone. She gasped as the blade slid out and Anders clamped a hand on either side of the wound. "Nathaniel, I'm going to need you to feed me lyrium - I need to keep this flow of magic up." The rogue rummaged through Anders' pack and pulled out as many blue vials as he could find.

As the power coursed through him he didn't have time for much thought. He only opened his mouth every minute or so for Nate to pour blue liquid into it, wincing slightly at the fetid taste. His head began to swim from the constant supply. It wouldn't be long before he would have to stop or he would lose his concentration in a lyrium haze and losing concentration in the middle of healing _never _went well.

Finally, when he was certain no more blood would be lost, he lowered his hands and fell backwards, allowing Sigrun and Nate to step in with health poultices and bandages. They knew what was required. He found he couldn't get up. The lyrium still coursed through his system, making everything, including his kneeling Commander, flare with light around the edges. It was... pretty. _She _was pretty. And he was pretty sure she was going to live.

"We need to get her back to the Vigil," Nathaniel was saying. "Anders can you walk?"

"'Course I can," he replied, lurching to his feet.

"Oghren and I will carry the commander. Sigrun can you keep our healer on his feet?"

"I'll be ok," Anders protested, but the small determined figure of the dwarven legionnaire muscled her way under his arm and he was suddenly leaning on her shoulders. "You know," he said, grinning down at her. "You're _exactly_ the right height for this. Do you think dwarves were designed that way?"

"Shut up or lose a limb, Anders."

"Why are dwarves so mean to me?" he wailed.

He was competent enough to feel embarrassed by the time he got to the Vigil, but he figured it was justified, considering the Commander was still breathing and still conscious. She hadn't spoken more than a few words, however, since the injury, and Anders was worried that she might be in shock.

"I'll need to examine her when we've got her into bed," Anders said to Nathaniel, who seemed to somehow have assumed command of the situation.

"You have no magic left," Nathaniel said.

"There are things you can do without magic, Ser Howe. And I'm the only qualified medic you've got."

"Right, then. I'll send Sigrun to get you as soon as she's settled. In the meantime don't you have to have a cold bath or eat something?"

"Why?"

"Because you're buzzing like a bee. I've never seen anyone this doped up."

"Obviously you've never been to the Circle of Magi on a Friday night."

"Get."

He ate a hunk of bread and some cheese and felt a little more normal, before making his way back to the Commander's quarters. She was propped up in a nest of half a dozen pillows, dressed in a slip with one arm exposed to show the swathe of bandages. They were clean - no blood had as yet seeped through and he was pleased to see his ministrations had been successful in that regard. But she was pale and her eyes were glassy.

"Commander," he said. "I need to check your wound."

She gestured to it. "There it is," she said.

He rolled his eyes and came to the side of the bed. "Can you lean forward a bit?" she did so, wincing a little bit but managing. He held his hands on either side of her shoulder, not quite touching, and used the small amount of magic he had left to sense the state of the wound.

"You've injured this shoulder before," he said, as he worked. "There's some repaired ligaments and muscles here - very nice work if I may say so."

"Wynne," she said. "I was injured when we were held in Fort Drakon. Before the Landsmeet that made Alistair King."

"You were imprisoned in Fort Drakon?"

"Yes. Thanks to a little mix up with Anora and Ser Cauthrien."

"How did the shoulder get injured?"

She fixed him with her grey gaze, and a slight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. He felt his heart rate speed up a little."I wrenched it when I was strangling someone with a chain."

He spluttered. "Strangling someone?"

"Yes," she said. "There was a guard. He had me chained to a table. I strangled him. But in the process I had to get off the table I was still chained to and the chains weren't quite long enough to let me get down without disclocating the shoulder as well."

"He had you chained to a _table?"_

She gave an exasperated sigh. "I was naked as well, if that makes the story any better."

"Well, _naturally," _he said. "Any story where naked girls strangle people is a good story in my books."

"Provided the person they're strangling isn't you," she said.

"Well... there was this one time...." _Anders, _a usually ignored section of his brain piped up. _Not a good story to be relating to your superior. _He clamped his lips shut and finished the examination. "Looks well," he said. "Should heal up cleanly, although there'll be a scar."

"Another one to add to my collection," she said. "Oh well, at least Alistair has as many as I do."

He winced at the mention of her husband and decided it might be time to make a prudent exit. "Sleep," he urged her. "You've been running yourself ragged for weeks. This will heal much faster if you take it easy for a while."

"Tell that to the darkspawn," she said.

"We can take up the slack for a couple of days," he said. "I'll come back and see you tomorrow."

"I'll look forward to it," she said. Although the tone was dry, he couldn't help the little skip his heart made at her words.

_You are turning into one stupid, stupid mage, _he thought at himself.

The next morning when he went to check on her _purely in a medical sense _he told himself, she wasn't in her room. He cursed. Of course she wouldn't follow his advice. He picked up his pace and made for her study, reasoning that since she was in no condition to wear armour or practice fighting she wouldn't be on the practice field.

She was indeed in her study when he entered, without knocking, figuring she would just order him away if he had.....

He had never regretted doing anything more.

She stood near the window, and her shoulders were shaking. It only took him a second to realise she was crying - he'd had the misfortune to see a lot of women cry in his time although in the past he'd been a bit more bemused than sympathetic. These were the dry, rusty sobs of someone who hasn't cried for a long time and isn't sure exactly how it was done.

He intended to slip back out again, but she spun round at the sound of the door - even when she was upset she was on her guard.

"Anders," she said, and her voice was flat. "What are you doing here?"

She held a letter in one hand. He was observant enough to see that it bore the royal seal. From her husband.

That.. that... _bastard._

"You weren't in your room," he said. "And I needed to check on your wound..."

"Ever heard of knocking?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Is that the thing where you rap your knuckles against a wooden surface?"

She snorted, then realised that the action sounded a lot wetter than normal and used a hankerchief to wipe her nose. "I could give you lessons, if you like," she said.

"Um... I can come back if you want."

"No, no. You've seen me humiliate myself now, there's nothing left to be embarrassed about. But if you spread it around the keep I'll personally cut off your fingers."

"Bad news?" he said, indicating the letter.

She clamped her lips shut for a moment to stop them from trembling, then carefully folded the letter. "No," she said, taking a breath that shuddered a little. "Exactly the opposite actually. Alistair...... was just writing to let me know that he managed to find someone. A very good friend of ours... she was separated from her son. Alistair found him."

Anders cocked an eyebrow. "So.. if you don't mind me asking..."

"Why was I crying?" she said. She still held the letter and he noticed she was running her other hand over the seal. She looked down at it and blinked a few times, then moved to her desk and placed it carefully in the middle. She seemed reluctant to let it go. Eventually she turned back to him and took a deep breath. "I miss him," she said, shrugging a little bit, then wincing. He suddenly remembered why he was here and stepped forward.

"Alistair?" he said as he placed his hands on her shoulder, acutely aware of how close he was to her - of the fact that she was wearing a shirt and breeches rather than leather armour - of the heat of her skin.

She nodded. He let the magic flow out and felt tension release from her. "You're in a lot of pain," he said softly, his breath moving the hair on the top of her head. "You should have come and found me."

"You remind me of him, you know," she said as he worked. His breath hitched. "It.. makes it harder sometimes."

"I remind you of the King?" he said. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or offended."

"I think you'd like each other," she said, smiling.

_Not likely, _he thought. "Well, we share the same tastes in women, obviously," he said. There was a silence as his brain caught up with his mouth. _Sweet Andraste, _he thought to himself. _I must have a lyrium hangover. Or I'm even more stupid than I realised. _"Did I just say that aloud?"

She looked up into his face, the smile gone. "Yes you did," she said. "Do you wish you hadn't?"

He swallowed. "Probably," he said.

"Then I'll conveniently forget about it," she replied, the smile returning. "And I hate to say it, but you probably should too. The last thing we need now is for any of us to be distracted by... " she frowned at the desk, where Alistair's letter still lay, "personal relationships."

"Oghren said it wasn't a political match," he said softly. "I should have listened to him."

She snorted. "Listen to Oghren? Maker forbid," she said. "Half of what he says is drink induced nonsense. But in this case... yes," she smiled up at him, and there was affection in the gaze, and sympathy. But nothing else.

He forced a smile and let his hands drop from her shoulder. "So, we shall never speak of it again," he said.

She caught one of his hands and squeezed it gently. "Thank you, Anders," she said. "I... I think I needed to talk about this with someone. And I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Commander," he said, resisting the urge to bring her hand to his lips. "I shall go and curl up alone in my bed with Ser Pounce-A-Lot and think of all the.. unmarried-non-Commanding officer-maidens yet to come my way."

She laughed. All traces of her tears were gone, and he felt obscurely proud of himself. He'd managed to not make her hate him, at least.

He hoped he hadn't come across as..... creepy.

She seemed reluctant to let his hand go. He stood there for a long moment, wishing for something he could obviously never have, before gently extricating his fingers from hers. He studied her face, reminded suddenly of staring at the door in the tower - the big, heavy door, with the big, mana draining Templars on either side of it.

He'd worked out a way to get out of there, eventually. He'd work out some way to get out of this as well.


End file.
